Faith. Family. Fiction.

A Little Short-Sighted

A few weeks ago, we took my son to the doctor for his first well-visit. After his near-death entrance into the world (which I talk about here), we held our breath while the doctor examined every crevice, every pore, scouring the kid for any signs of malfunction or injury.

Doc flipped the baby over and inspected each tiny vertebrae running up his back. “He had a bit of a rough start, but I’d say he’s just about perfect now.”

No signs of brain or skull trauma. No jaundice. No heart problems like there had been during labor and delivery.

My son was normal. Perfectly normal.

When it came to height and weight, my baby boy was smack dab in the middle, percentile-wise. His head circumference was shockingly average. And, just like other babies his age, his developing eyes could only see 7-9 inches in front of his face.

There he was—my perfectly normal miracle baby—wiggling on the table, each move crinkling the white paper beneath him. I reached for him then, cradling his delicate neck in my palm.

And he flinched. At his own mother’s embrace.

I eyeballed my arms to estimate their length. Way longer than 7-9 inches.

How could he know someone was going to pick him up? To him, I was just some blurry blob in the distance.

I lifted him and held him close, inserting my face into his tiny world. “Come here, big guy.”

He looked bewildered—completely lost—as his head bobbed around, his bulging eyes searching for the source of my voice. When his frantic gaze landed on my face, he blinked in recognition and his body melted into my arms. Finally, a bit of peace. A glimpse of home in his overwhelming world.

Like my son, I, too am a little short-sighted. But my vision isn’t measured in centimeters or inches. It’s measured in days, weeks, and years.

In the scheme of eternity, my entire life is a mere 7-9 inches.

And I’m so focused on those few, minuscule inches, I’m often blind to the blurry Kingdom beyond.

Instead, I dream within the confines of my limited view, squinting to its farthest reaches to regurgitate how I envision my life to unfold:

Published author

Respected mother

Flawless homemaker

Supportive, loving wife

And what do I do?

I set my short sights on those pursuits and work relentlessly to win the world, not the Kingdom.

There are no signs of stopping. No breathers. No quitting.

Which, I’ve discovered is normal. Perfectly normal.

Here I am—your typical run-of-the-mill, Type A overachiever—wiggling through life, ramming headfirst into any walls that try to stop me. I’m sure I look bewildered—completely lost—as I scurry about, tirelessly striving to attain everything I can in this short life.

He reaches for me then, cradling my delicate neck in His palm.

And I flinch. At my own Father’s embrace.

How could I know He was going to pick me up? He was just some blurry blob in the distance.